Love helps me breathe.
It clears my head like cigarette smoke,
Kills the ache of cyclic longing.
It vaporizes sorrow,
Pollinating my vessels,
Seizing up the uncontrollable decay.
It puts a blanket over me
And washes me in consolation.
In gentle deep sleep,
In hills of broken bones,
In all that’s lost and found
I see you, my love.
MTA Poem
© Copyright: Григорий Вяземский, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126012000947
Свидетельство о публикации №126012000947
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